Vulgar and Yuri weren't sure about America after their first-week state side."Nothing to lose" had been their credo, but keeping to the code had been much more difficult than they had anticipated. Before leaving their lives had been not much but cold hands by the fire, hard work, and occasionally a nice day of hunting with their dog Alexi. No hunting in New York City. Plenty of cold hands but no work. And there would be no work down in Atlanta with their strong features and even stronger accents. Yuri ached for home but Vulgar wouldn't go back and he couldn't leave him in this strange new foreign land all alone. They had just recently been involved in an altercation at a saloon that had begun as an argument about their culture. Americans would never understand the differences and thus could never be trusted.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Ctenophile (IP)
Butch found it hard to remember how it had all began. Whether it had been the hypnotic effects of the red and white striped pole he could always see twisting from his apartment as a child or if it was the sanitary redolence of the comb jar that wafted deep into his nasal cavity as he sat perched on that cushiony black throne, he no longer knew. However, he did know that Max Fleishman, that gem of a man, had too long been his tonsorial guide through life, twenty-three years to be exact, to think that any two bit butcher with some fancy Matsukas and piece of paper from the health department could do anything to ameliorate the void left by this loss. For Butch, the magnanimity of a coiffeur was a match for that of one’s King, of one’s Emperor; a good tonsor, no, a great tonsor like Max could be nothing less than a life companion, and therefore, in the wake of such a tragedy, the mourning must suffice the grandeur of the man.
Butch blotted his eyes with the monogrammed towel he had planned to present to Max on the thirtieth anniversary of The Chop Shop as he contemplated what could be done to forever illuminate Max as the potentate among tonsorial artists that he was to so many. A statue might be a nice gesture, or maybe a plaque commemorating his accomplishments. As he trudged down Centre St. with his chin buried in the folds of his neck he passed many a head that would never again be touched by the shimmering stainless steel touch of that wrinkled and plump but ever so flawless hand. Butch blotted some more. There had to be something more he could do.
Butch blotted his eyes with the monogrammed towel he had planned to present to Max on the thirtieth anniversary of The Chop Shop as he contemplated what could be done to forever illuminate Max as the potentate among tonsorial artists that he was to so many. A statue might be a nice gesture, or maybe a plaque commemorating his accomplishments. As he trudged down Centre St. with his chin buried in the folds of his neck he passed many a head that would never again be touched by the shimmering stainless steel touch of that wrinkled and plump but ever so flawless hand. Butch blotted some more. There had to be something more he could do.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Breaking Up and Down (IP)
The buzzing glow of inimical incandescence beat down through his eyelids like a burglar arduously gaining entrance to his sleeping victim’s home. “I don’t feel right,” he spoke suddenly after what seemed an eternity of expressionless silence. He took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the top of the seat and the window pane causing a flurry of light spots to begin sinuously swirling around his path of vision. “Uhhck, Jesus Christ. Something’s wrong with me. My head and heart feel like they’re throbbing, but if I touch them they seem to be fine. My mind's racing, but it’s completely blank. I feel like I’m about to die or something. At least I hope that’s what’s next. I can’t stand this.”
She looked over at him hatefully, breathed heavily and in an eschewing tone asked, “Why’s everything always have to be about you? You’re so damn self-centered. Did you even hear a word of what I just said? I spoke to Clarissa today and I’ll be going out to New York next Saturday to celebrate her divorce.” She looked at him again with a penetrating glare. “I’m leaving on Saturday so you’ll have to take care of my house. The plants need to be watered and the animals have to be fed. Is that too much to ask? Can you not just say okay?” Now his pulse actually did begin to rise. He started to vomit but stopped himself swallowing it down. “What is wrong with you Sean?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. It’s no problem. I can take care of it.”
“I don’t want you to take care of it. I want you to take care of my plants and my animals. Do you need me to leave you detailed instructions? Shall I explain to you once again the portions that they each receive and the frequency of their vitamin intake? We’ve been together for a fucking eternity, and you can’t even handle the simple task of feeding a dog or a cat? Jesus, who are you?” Her look of disgust was alone enough to give a child a lifelong complex about self worth.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll make sure the plants are watered and the cats, dog, and bird are fed.” His stomach jumped to his chest as he swallowed his last words. “What am I doing,” he thought, “where am I going?” He took a deep breath and let it slowly out through his nose so he wouldn’t upset her anymore than she already was. “I love you Stephanie.”
“You know that Nash is on a diet and only eats once a day, right? And don’t forget to give him his glucosamine pill. I don’t want to come home and have to pay for another visit to his dietician. And Monica’s been biting again. Have you been harassing her? She only bites when she’s nervous and agitated, you know.”
His eyes began to swell. He felt as if he might explode any second. “Stephanie, I’ve never harassed your bird. I just like to look at it.”
“It’s not an it. It is a she, and she doesn’t like you staring at her. Why do I have to explain things to you over and over and over again? Can’t you just listen to me the first time I tell you? Why do you have to make our lives so difficult? It’s like you want us to be unhappy.”
Sean stood up and walked to the nearest pole on the car. He looked out the window at the reflections sitting motionless against a screaming background of ebony. The soft sad looks of the reflected countenances on the windows seemed to calm him but at the same time the rushing darkness made his ears start ringing. He closed his eyes and just as he did so the ringing crescendoed. He lost his footing and fell to the floor. Stephanie blushed fiercely in horror of her hauteur being compromised. She contorted her face and turned in shame as if he’d just exposed his genitals to the entire train. “What is your problem? I can barely take you out of the house. This is MacArthur Sean. This is our stop. Get up. We have to get off the train.” She hurriedly grabbed her packages and stepped onto the platform. Sean now feeling the nausea and the onset of what felt like a debilitating aphasia twice as badly was still trying to pull himself to his feet when an elderly black man grabbed him firmly above his elbow in an assuring way that calmed his stomach.
In a soft, edificial voice he said, “You okay son. Its not long now. You just keep on fighting.”
Sean thanked the man for his assistance and stepped through the doors just before they came together. He looked around and saw Stephanie talking on her cell phone as she hurriedly poked at her palm pilot. He began walking over to her but as he approached he felt farther and farther away. His arm was warm where the man had touched him and his thoughts were starting to make sense again. He felt a detumescence between his temples as a tumor or whatever it was that was waging battle on his mind had called a retreat for the moment.
MacArthur was a special place for Sean. It wasn’t much different than any other BART station except for the warnings he’d received about being a “white boy” in the wrong place from some of his college buddies. He’d been returning home one night from a fraternity exchange that had went badly—his date had left him to give his roommate head in the men’s room—and he fell asleep on a bench while waiting for the transfer train to Berkeley. His sleep was coma like and he didn’t wake until 10am the next morning sweating profusely from the intense heat of the sun engulfing his body like a mothers hold of her young child’s hand. He felt as if he’d slept for years. Remembering the cautions of his friends he checked his pockets for his valuables and found everything exactly as it had been before he fell asleep excet for one thing. He found a St. Christopher medal on a long silver chain that had not been there when he’d gone to sleep. Sean saw the medal as a sign that he would be safe anywhere as long as he had it. Since that day it never left his neck and MacArthur didn’t seem at all dangerous.
Sean changed direction suddenly and stepped to where he could see the sky. It had been a wet winter and puffy black clouds loomed overhead like an abusive father just before he blows his top. He gazed deep into the clouds remembering what a quantum physicist had said about the power of observation. He felt he could mold them into something less ominous, something less like Stephanie and more like the station. Just as he felt his gaze transcending his body Stephanie’s voice cut into his blank stare like a ragged and overused box knife.
“Sean! Come help me with these bags. The train will be here any second.” He smiled and walked toward her as she continued to push forcibly at her technologies. “I need a better phone. You know we’ve been together for almost four years and you’ve never bought anything nice for me?”
He knew that wasn’t the truth. When they had first began to date he would bring fresh cut flowers to her every day, but after a few months she told him that it wasn’t romantic, it was just a cliché. So, in an effort to be more original, he would buy her obscure CDs and records from Amoeba or hand made jewelry from a Native American woman on telegraph. She rarely listened to the music and always acted appreciative about the jewelry but never wore a piece of it once.
Their relationship wasn’t always bad though. There had been a lot of good times and the physical attraction (the initial reason they had began seeing each other) had always remained. They were both very good-looking people, the kind of people that require a second glance for full appreciation. Stephanie had light brown hair that fell just below her slender shoulders. She was tall for a girl and dressed professionally in designer attire. Labels dictated her taste almost as much as the myriad of popular magazines she subscribed to. She liked to fit in with the debutants and Jewish American Princesses she surrounded herself with, even though she was from a lower middle class family in Bakersfield. She wanted to fit in so bad that for a while she had even considered becoming Jewish. She, of course, claimed that she felt strongly about Jewish dogma and culture. This would have been true if Jewish dogma was to make money and Jewish culture revolved around diamond jewelry. It wasn’t all her fault though. She was a product of her environment, and when it came to social ordering she was a lioness in the food chain, a social predator. Stephanie knew how to be better or, rather, to seem better than other people. She knew how to posture herself against judgment and she could be more intimidating and ferocious in the maintenance of her reputation than an African lioness of her cubs. She could manipulate her shallow friends and often only had to make a small remark to one of them to cause her desired outcome.
***
“Why can’t I focus on anything?” thought Sean as his boss rambled monotonously about some changes that would be occurring around the office.
“By using these new criteria as a basis for our decisions about which projects to undertake, we will further project ourselves into potential places where our development and status will be assured to gain accolades and approval thusly increasing our customer base tenfold.” The man cleared his throat as looked up from the new company manual. “Sean, we need to be ambitious here and your attitude should reflect the degree of your ambition. Our firm’s prestige is based on the attitudes and actions of its members. We have opportunities to….”
Sean’s eyes lingered around his boss’s oblong face and settled on the flab of extra skin hanging around his neck stifling the movements of his chin as he ranted. Sean wondered if his boss could feel the battle between his chins. He wondered if he would ever grow such hideous layers on his face, if food could get stuck in the rolls. He wondered if there was a neck antiperspirant for people like his boss who spoke continuously with such fervor. Sean wondered because he could smell the sweat gathering in the creases of the man chins.
“Sean, did you hear what I just said? You better be listening because your job is on the line. Do you know how many applicants I get every week for your position?”
“Yes Mr. Shaw. Yes, I heard everything you’ve said. I will do my best to help make a better name for the firm.” He loosened his tie and adjusted himself in his seat.
“It’s more than that Sean! We need to see 110% from you. Everyday!” Sean looked out the window at the dark clouds slowly overtaking the city. There was a flash of lightening followed by a clap of thunder.
“Wow. It sure is getting nasty out there” Sean spoke without realizing that he was going to. Mr. Shaw scowled and grunted. “I’m sorry sir. I know exactly what you mean. I really like being part of this team and I’ll make the changes you’re talking about.” Do I always sound like a crock of shit, he thought. And why does it make people so happy when I do?
“That’s the kind of attitude I want to see. Lets try to make it more commonplace. How’s that girlfriend of yours doing? You better get a ring on that one soon before you lose her. She’s quite the catch.”
“Oh she’s fine. Thanks for asking.”
Mr. Shaw always really liked Stephanie, almost to the point of infatuation.
She looked over at him hatefully, breathed heavily and in an eschewing tone asked, “Why’s everything always have to be about you? You’re so damn self-centered. Did you even hear a word of what I just said? I spoke to Clarissa today and I’ll be going out to New York next Saturday to celebrate her divorce.” She looked at him again with a penetrating glare. “I’m leaving on Saturday so you’ll have to take care of my house. The plants need to be watered and the animals have to be fed. Is that too much to ask? Can you not just say okay?” Now his pulse actually did begin to rise. He started to vomit but stopped himself swallowing it down. “What is wrong with you Sean?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. It’s no problem. I can take care of it.”
“I don’t want you to take care of it. I want you to take care of my plants and my animals. Do you need me to leave you detailed instructions? Shall I explain to you once again the portions that they each receive and the frequency of their vitamin intake? We’ve been together for a fucking eternity, and you can’t even handle the simple task of feeding a dog or a cat? Jesus, who are you?” Her look of disgust was alone enough to give a child a lifelong complex about self worth.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll make sure the plants are watered and the cats, dog, and bird are fed.” His stomach jumped to his chest as he swallowed his last words. “What am I doing,” he thought, “where am I going?” He took a deep breath and let it slowly out through his nose so he wouldn’t upset her anymore than she already was. “I love you Stephanie.”
“You know that Nash is on a diet and only eats once a day, right? And don’t forget to give him his glucosamine pill. I don’t want to come home and have to pay for another visit to his dietician. And Monica’s been biting again. Have you been harassing her? She only bites when she’s nervous and agitated, you know.”
His eyes began to swell. He felt as if he might explode any second. “Stephanie, I’ve never harassed your bird. I just like to look at it.”
“It’s not an it. It is a she, and she doesn’t like you staring at her. Why do I have to explain things to you over and over and over again? Can’t you just listen to me the first time I tell you? Why do you have to make our lives so difficult? It’s like you want us to be unhappy.”
Sean stood up and walked to the nearest pole on the car. He looked out the window at the reflections sitting motionless against a screaming background of ebony. The soft sad looks of the reflected countenances on the windows seemed to calm him but at the same time the rushing darkness made his ears start ringing. He closed his eyes and just as he did so the ringing crescendoed. He lost his footing and fell to the floor. Stephanie blushed fiercely in horror of her hauteur being compromised. She contorted her face and turned in shame as if he’d just exposed his genitals to the entire train. “What is your problem? I can barely take you out of the house. This is MacArthur Sean. This is our stop. Get up. We have to get off the train.” She hurriedly grabbed her packages and stepped onto the platform. Sean now feeling the nausea and the onset of what felt like a debilitating aphasia twice as badly was still trying to pull himself to his feet when an elderly black man grabbed him firmly above his elbow in an assuring way that calmed his stomach.
In a soft, edificial voice he said, “You okay son. Its not long now. You just keep on fighting.”
Sean thanked the man for his assistance and stepped through the doors just before they came together. He looked around and saw Stephanie talking on her cell phone as she hurriedly poked at her palm pilot. He began walking over to her but as he approached he felt farther and farther away. His arm was warm where the man had touched him and his thoughts were starting to make sense again. He felt a detumescence between his temples as a tumor or whatever it was that was waging battle on his mind had called a retreat for the moment.
MacArthur was a special place for Sean. It wasn’t much different than any other BART station except for the warnings he’d received about being a “white boy” in the wrong place from some of his college buddies. He’d been returning home one night from a fraternity exchange that had went badly—his date had left him to give his roommate head in the men’s room—and he fell asleep on a bench while waiting for the transfer train to Berkeley. His sleep was coma like and he didn’t wake until 10am the next morning sweating profusely from the intense heat of the sun engulfing his body like a mothers hold of her young child’s hand. He felt as if he’d slept for years. Remembering the cautions of his friends he checked his pockets for his valuables and found everything exactly as it had been before he fell asleep excet for one thing. He found a St. Christopher medal on a long silver chain that had not been there when he’d gone to sleep. Sean saw the medal as a sign that he would be safe anywhere as long as he had it. Since that day it never left his neck and MacArthur didn’t seem at all dangerous.
Sean changed direction suddenly and stepped to where he could see the sky. It had been a wet winter and puffy black clouds loomed overhead like an abusive father just before he blows his top. He gazed deep into the clouds remembering what a quantum physicist had said about the power of observation. He felt he could mold them into something less ominous, something less like Stephanie and more like the station. Just as he felt his gaze transcending his body Stephanie’s voice cut into his blank stare like a ragged and overused box knife.
“Sean! Come help me with these bags. The train will be here any second.” He smiled and walked toward her as she continued to push forcibly at her technologies. “I need a better phone. You know we’ve been together for almost four years and you’ve never bought anything nice for me?”
He knew that wasn’t the truth. When they had first began to date he would bring fresh cut flowers to her every day, but after a few months she told him that it wasn’t romantic, it was just a cliché. So, in an effort to be more original, he would buy her obscure CDs and records from Amoeba or hand made jewelry from a Native American woman on telegraph. She rarely listened to the music and always acted appreciative about the jewelry but never wore a piece of it once.
Their relationship wasn’t always bad though. There had been a lot of good times and the physical attraction (the initial reason they had began seeing each other) had always remained. They were both very good-looking people, the kind of people that require a second glance for full appreciation. Stephanie had light brown hair that fell just below her slender shoulders. She was tall for a girl and dressed professionally in designer attire. Labels dictated her taste almost as much as the myriad of popular magazines she subscribed to. She liked to fit in with the debutants and Jewish American Princesses she surrounded herself with, even though she was from a lower middle class family in Bakersfield. She wanted to fit in so bad that for a while she had even considered becoming Jewish. She, of course, claimed that she felt strongly about Jewish dogma and culture. This would have been true if Jewish dogma was to make money and Jewish culture revolved around diamond jewelry. It wasn’t all her fault though. She was a product of her environment, and when it came to social ordering she was a lioness in the food chain, a social predator. Stephanie knew how to be better or, rather, to seem better than other people. She knew how to posture herself against judgment and she could be more intimidating and ferocious in the maintenance of her reputation than an African lioness of her cubs. She could manipulate her shallow friends and often only had to make a small remark to one of them to cause her desired outcome.
***
“Why can’t I focus on anything?” thought Sean as his boss rambled monotonously about some changes that would be occurring around the office.
“By using these new criteria as a basis for our decisions about which projects to undertake, we will further project ourselves into potential places where our development and status will be assured to gain accolades and approval thusly increasing our customer base tenfold.” The man cleared his throat as looked up from the new company manual. “Sean, we need to be ambitious here and your attitude should reflect the degree of your ambition. Our firm’s prestige is based on the attitudes and actions of its members. We have opportunities to….”
Sean’s eyes lingered around his boss’s oblong face and settled on the flab of extra skin hanging around his neck stifling the movements of his chin as he ranted. Sean wondered if his boss could feel the battle between his chins. He wondered if he would ever grow such hideous layers on his face, if food could get stuck in the rolls. He wondered if there was a neck antiperspirant for people like his boss who spoke continuously with such fervor. Sean wondered because he could smell the sweat gathering in the creases of the man chins.
“Sean, did you hear what I just said? You better be listening because your job is on the line. Do you know how many applicants I get every week for your position?”
“Yes Mr. Shaw. Yes, I heard everything you’ve said. I will do my best to help make a better name for the firm.” He loosened his tie and adjusted himself in his seat.
“It’s more than that Sean! We need to see 110% from you. Everyday!” Sean looked out the window at the dark clouds slowly overtaking the city. There was a flash of lightening followed by a clap of thunder.
“Wow. It sure is getting nasty out there” Sean spoke without realizing that he was going to. Mr. Shaw scowled and grunted. “I’m sorry sir. I know exactly what you mean. I really like being part of this team and I’ll make the changes you’re talking about.” Do I always sound like a crock of shit, he thought. And why does it make people so happy when I do?
“That’s the kind of attitude I want to see. Lets try to make it more commonplace. How’s that girlfriend of yours doing? You better get a ring on that one soon before you lose her. She’s quite the catch.”
“Oh she’s fine. Thanks for asking.”
Mr. Shaw always really liked Stephanie, almost to the point of infatuation.
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